Friday the Sixteenth October
by and if I dream
Summary: "That thing you are dreading- it will happen on Friday the sixteenth of October." [a oneshot on Snape, Voldemort, and the day they discovered the prophecy]


"That thing you are dreading- it will happen on Friday the sixteenth of October."

* * *

Invincible. Powerful. Pure. He heard those words a thousand times a day in appreciation, in fear. There would be no downfall. He would take over. He would succeed where those imbecilic Muggles did not.

He would rule the world, and there would be no one at his side. No one, for he was invincible. Not a soul. Could anyone with a soul truly fight a soulless man? More accurately, he had one-fourth of a soul, but only three more. Only three more deaths and the souls of those who died would fuel his immortality. They would slip silently away, only terror their legacy.

He laughed. It was a horrible sound, sharp and cruel. It reminded even himself of shattering ice, the ice people walked on in winter, and watching them drown. He had done that before. In the early days of his climb to power, he had taken his most valuable followers to a Muggle town. There was several feet of snow on the ground and the others shivered. But he was not cold. He was never cold, never warm. Floating in between. He had no reason to experience such mortal concepts. Why should he bother himself with the weather? It would not matter, once the dementors were free. Depression and despair, thousands joining him as soulless, only they were useless. Brainless.

A solution to that problem would be soon forthcoming. If he let loose the dementors, the thousands rendered helpless could easily form the advance ranks of his army. The ones that he could bash against the walls of Hogwarts and the Ministry. Useless Muggles, finding a purpose. A place to serve his noble cause. Only a fortnight until his ascension.

October thirty-first, he would rule. October thirty-first, he would become the world's lord. Toss aside the silly Muggle religions and place himself there instead. Not that the Muggles would have anything left to worship once he killed them all. Only wizards, but he would be their lord too.

He had to finish the details of his plan, ensure his followers knew their places. He drew back his sleeve and pressed one finger to the snake inscribed there. It was different than those of his followers. Sharing a mark with them would merely downgrade him and so his was the snake from the tap that led to the Basilisk and the Chamber. Pinpricks of electricity tingled from the tattoo, making his wand hand spark. They were coming.

With a series of pops, his Death Eaters appeared around , the Lestranges, Dolohov, Nott. The rest of his inner circle appeared, filling the edges of the Wizard-made monument to time. The great stone blocks rose behind the cloaked figures, forming a perfect circle. Pale mist floated through the scene. He had missed another night.

It was the sixteenth, then. Little time left. He scanned the gathering, tearing off the masks of those he was unsure of. His long nails bit into the faces of his followers, but they did not flinch. Good.

But for one missing figure. He spun once, counting each person. Only sixteen. Snape was gone.

Rage fueled him as he searched out the man's thoughts, hundreds of miles away.

Come. He did not wait to ensure that the instructions were followed. Snape could come or he could die. He turned back to the ring of masks surrounding him.

"Go. We shall reconvene in one hour." The silent swish of robes were his only answers as the circle disintegrated. He stood, rooted to the ground, robes billowing in the slight mist. It had been thirty-seven seconds. Snape would appear or he would die.

 _Pop._

"You are late," he said curtly. " _Crucio_." Snape screamed and fell, mud from the damp ground sullying the dark robes. The man's head slammed into one of the tall stones with a twitch of the wand. Through the fog, he could see the man's greasy hair as he stood curtly.

"Apologies, my lord," said Snape as he hurried closer. "I did not mean to ignore your summons."

"You are lying," he hissed. "Lying, lying. Do you believe the Dark Lord cannot tell when you are lying?" Snape moved to respond, but he slashed his wand across the man's mouth and he fell silent. "Now, shall I kill you? Or do you have an explanation?"

Snape nodded and worked his jaw for a moment until he lifted the Silencing charm. "My lord. I was in Hogsmeade, at a pub. I found Albus Dumbledore conducting an interview and I listened in-"

"Because you want the job. Is service to me not enough for you?" he snapped.

"No, no, my lord. He was speaking to a woman by the name of Trelawney for the position of Divination professor. But the interview suddenly stopped and the woman started speaking in a harsh, terrible tone. She recited a prophecy." A prophecy. Interesting, he mused.

"And what is this prophecy that has caused your tardiness?" Snape licked his lips nervously, something he hand never seen before. It must indeed be important.

"I will recite as much as I know," said Snape. " _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies_. That is all." The Dark Lord hissed softly. This would not do, no, it would not. Plans would have to be altered. It would set him back a while, but it would be worth it, in the end. Kill the usurper. He had no fear, no emotions.

At least, that was what he told himself.


End file.
